Interviews

Daniel Kramer

I grew up in rural America.There wasn’t an opera house in my state but when I was about six, I saw a local touring production of Hansel and Gretel. I remember Gretel leaning down to pick imaginary flowers and suddenly I was in a meadow. That’s the moment I fell in love with theatre.

My first real encounter with opera was at university. A teacher said I should direct opera but I’d never seen one so he took me to see Peter Grimes. Here was an art form where theatre, movement, poetry, song and design all mixed in one hypnotic evening. It was life changing.

I moved to London on July 4th 2000 – a sort of reverse Independence Day. I’d just turned 23 and I lived with Simon Callow (my partner at the time) in his two-bedroom Victorian flat. It was incredible – wood floors, huge sash windows, 20ft ceilings. It was on Agar Grove in Camden, which was a very different place to live back then.

I think moving to a big city is a good three-year process and Camden was a great place to acclimatise. It was still a bit East Village, a bit artistic, a bit naughty, a bit drunk. Elderly punks were still hanging around. It was perfect. I also fell in love with London’s restaurants. The Square, the original Ivy, Sunday lunch at The Engineer in Primrose Hill. Food heaven.

When I moved to London, I saw my first Punch and Judy in Covent Garden. I became obsessed with it – in America it wouldn’t be legal! I went to Southend pier, met the puppeteers, or ‘Professors’, and even learned to use the swazzle [the mouthpiece used to voice Punch]. Eight years later, I directed my first professional opera – Punch and Judy.

London inspires my work. Outside St Paul’s Cathedral there’s a kebab shop with a neon sign, and I always picture that when I work on a show. To me, it’s what ENO does best: incredible heritage up against the people of today, from all walks of life.

The Thames is the most operatic part of London. That powerful current is Wagner at his deepest and most dangerous.

I currently live with my partner in a special quiet corner of Kings Cross, right on the canal. It’s a fifth-floor flat with a terrace, where I spend every spare moment. We have a giant herb garden, tomatoes, peas, lettuces, and bok choy, which we grew in hanging baskets and never thought that would work. I fantasise about buying some land far away from any city, with a huge garden for vegetables.

My most prized possession is a three-foot-tall steel Chinese dragon that I was given during my first year in London. The dragon is my Chinese symbol and, having lived on the road for so many years, it’s nice to come home and see it in the foyer.

I love my Camden council swim card. My partner, who’s a huge swimmer, is always suggesting we go to the lido but I haven’t yet partaken of the [Hampstead] ponds. I like swimming when I can see what’s on the bottom.

I can’t listen to opera at home. It always puts me into work mode. So at night, it’s usually whatever my partner chooses. Unless I’m in a rehearsal process; then I like to have silence. In my studio, I listen to opera absolutely alone, with the music very loud and on repeat. I have a huge table for the score and my fun, coloured pencils. My staff say my scores look like a rainbow has exploded on them.

People think opera is this stuffy event with tuxedos and evening gowns. Hardly so! Get your sneakers and jeans on and rock up. Opera is about us now, about surviving in the face of terrible odds and, like Beyoncé, singing your heart out for change. Our opening opera of the new season is Richard Strauss’s Salome. That too is relevant for today – it’s about a woman standing up to the patriarchy, saying, ‘Time’s up!’. A whole new world is getting turned on to opera because there are shows that are for them and about them.